part0029

It was Rollo’s idea to go to the abandoned house, wander around a bit, and shoot out some windows with their pellet guns. Rollo held a good one that looked like a .44 Magnum.

“It’ll blow your head clean off,” he bragged. Ping!

Most of the glass had already been shattered by other enterprising youths. Windows lined all three floors, yawning and toothy, as if the whole house grinned. Though only paltry targets remained, the two boys took careful aim and sent more than a little debris shimmering to the weed-strewn lot.

“Love the sound of plate glass in the morning,” Rollo said.

Eddie took a bead on a shard no bigger than a postage stamp. It popped into a rhinestone spray.

“Nice!” Rollo drew the word out with a hiss.

“Like a sniper,” Eddie said. “Might join the Marines after high school.” He’d never considered it until that moment.

“Badass. I’m joinin’ Blackwater.”

“How you get in there?”

“Dunno.” Rollo reloaded and aimed at his foot. “Hey, I’m a conscientious objector.” A sharp snap. The shot went through the toe of his sneaker.

“Charlie wins again,” Eddie said sadly.

Rollo’s mother always bought him oversized shoes. By the time they fit properly, they were held together only by a sense of thrift. Eddie was certain that Rollo’s mother intended this pair to see the next election.

“Hey, inside,” Rollo said.

The door had been kicked in years ago. The doorknob had even been torn loose.

The boys milled about aimlessly, firing shots into the walls. Bottles littered the second floor–boozing sophomores, no doubt. Those oafs had given the two of them a bad time, reciprocating the grief they must have endured the year before. Thus, the cycle never ended.

“Coexist,” Eddie said.

“What?” Rollo fired another round. The top of a bottle snapped into the air. Its body skittered and spun.

Eddie reloaded while Rollo set the target again.

“Nothin’,” Eddie said. “Just thinking ‘bout those hippie wannabes.”

Rollo scratched his head. “Beatniks. Just copying commercials. Not like us.”

True. Eddie and Rollo had an inarguably unique panache: Dixie with a dash of Motorhead. Eddie hadn’t brought it up yet. Had to let enough time pass. “They mess you up Monday?”

“Man, I woulda helped,” Eddie said. “You know that.”

“Yeah. I got your back, too.”

“Always.” Rollo gritted his teeth and emptied his gun at the remaining portion of the bottle. A few shots connected. “Hey, know what we should do?”

Eddie frowned. This felt sordid. Two freshmen rejects doing target practice and plotting violent revenge.

“You fucking idiot. Not like that.” Rollo shook his head. “I mean…we should let the air outta their tires or something.”

Rollo shrugged. “Just the back two. Leave them stranded.”

“Someone’ll see us, then–”

“Yeah, maybe so.” Rollo let his gun dangle to the floor and scratched at his head. “Wish I had wheels.”

“Hav’ta pay for gas,” Eddie said.

“And insurance,” Eddie added.

“Whatever. Hey, upstairs.”

They creaked out of the master bedroom and stalked to the center of the house. A chain hung from the ceiling, the remains of a chandelier probably scavenged by some shabby chic decorator. Regrettable. It would have been the mother of all targets.

Eddie’s feet crunched over the floor. The surface of the ceiling had loosened, denuding a wooden lattice and powdering the floor below with a slick talcum. Heaped upon the mess stretched the rotted remains of an old staircase, the only route to the third story.

Rollo kicked at the boards. “Bet there’s stuff up there.” He sniffed and looked up toward the landing.

“What do you call that junk they insulate with?” Eddie asked.

Eddie shook his head. “Naw, the old stuff. Gets you sick.”

“My uncle got it real bad from that,” Roland kicked at a piece of debris.

“Well, should we–”

“Pff. I feel fine, don’t you?” Rollo hunkered down and rummaged through the collapsed pile. “Look,” he said, pulling a long pipe loose and propping it alongside the landing so that its top rested between the banister railings. “Keep it steady.” He tapped the bottom on the floor.

Eddie held the pipe firm while Rollo hoisted himself up, like a fireman who’d forgotten his boots.

As he struggled upward, Rollo called down, “Quit checkin’ me out!”

“Shut up.” Eddie stared at the ceiling, attempting to avoid any follow-up witticisms. A piece of plaster fell, tumbling end over end and smashing into crumbs. Eddie squinted. There was something up there, caged behind the lattice–a shape, a shadow.

“Okay,” Rollo said. “Got it from here. C’mon.”

Eddie clambered up, giving only cursory thoughts to rust stains on his jeans.

“Hey, look.” Rollo pointed to a painting in the upper hallway. Someone had created a landscape of the house. The place used to be white with red shutters. It had beds of flowers, shrubs, climbing vines with inky-purple flowers, and a grove of trees sentineling the lawn. There weren’t even stumps out there now. Eddie traced a finger along the gilded frame, furrowing through dust.

“Think that’s worth something?” Rollo asked, rubbing his nose mightily.

“Maybe. It’s got a tear, though.” Eddie pointed. A scratch cut through one of the top windows.

“Lessee what else there is,” Rollo said.

As they poked about the upper rooms, they found a dresser and rifled through it–empty, naturally. Next, they rooted through closets.

“No–wire–hangers!” Rollo whipped a fistful at Eddie. Eddie yelled as they hit across his arms. He hurled them back and Rollo jumped aside, laughing.

They found a couple of old books on dusty shelves, the kind you got for a quarter at yard sales.

“Aw.” Rollo’s eyes grew wide. He rattled on the doorknob to the last room. “Not locked, but–”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Quit menstruating and kick it in.”

Rollo chuckled, as if pleased by the insult. “Vice squad!” His oversized shoe pounded into the door with a booming thud. The door pushed open an inch but slammed back shut.

“Something’s behind it,” Eddie said.

“Yeah.” Rollo’s eyes shone. “Bet nobody’s been in there.”

“Let me try,” Eddie said.

He took his turn, kicking the door several times. After his feet numbed, he let Rollo try again. When it still didn’t open, Rollo opened fire on the lock until splinters coated the floor.

“Not gonna do any good anyhow,” Eddie said. “Handle turns easy.”

Rollo ruminated. His beady eyes roamed up and down the doorframe. “Okay. Got an idea.”

They set their guns aside and returned with a heavy dresser. Hoping to break it down, they lunged the dresser at the door, leaning into the momentum. A terrific collision thundered through the house. The door flew open with such force that its handle punctured the wall.

Rollo grabbed his gun.

“Don’t shoot it up,” Eddie said.

Eddie picked his up, and they stormed in.

A single bed sat in the corner next to a toy box. Picture books scattered the windowsill, and the room stank–musty, like Eddie’s grandmother’s attic.

“Why was the door so hard to open?” Eddie asked.

Rollo sniffed and shrugged.

Eddie pulled the door free from the wall. “Nothing was behind it.”

“Wood’s swollen, twisted hinges.” Rollo pushed a book cover closed with his toe. “Dick the Detective.” He snickered. “This one’s for you.”

“Shut up. Think those are worth anything, like collectibles?”

“We should box ‘em up.”

“Yeah.” Rollo’s eyes roamed the room. “Hey, you see a bank?”

“Just pocket change.”

“Naw. You’re not thinkin’. Silver dimes, quarters.”

“Hey, that’s right!”

They thoroughly searched: marbles, a fork, more books, string, and a busted pocket watch.

“Not very old, was he?” Eddie asked, holding up a pair of thin, little pants.

Rollo scratched at his ear.

Drawings stuck against the walls, not taped or tacked, but slipped over splinters in the woodwork. The kid appeared to like drawing. No friends or family, like most kids...just himself. Kid on the lawn. Kid in the room. Kid on the porch. Kid on the roof. Eddie found a picture of a mouse, and in the next drawing, the mouse lay on its side, an X in place of each eye, and its pink tongue nipped between two long teeth.

“Loner,” Rollo said. “Like something you’d come up with.”

Rollo cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, this kid never drew his parents.”

“Must not have gotten along.”

Eddie looked over the pictures. He stared at the kid’s rendition of the house–grey with jagged windows. “I guess.”

“Huh.” Rollo grabbed the end of the bedspread and yanked it aside. “What the hell’s that?”

A soiled outline of a very small person smeared up the center of the bed.

“I donno,” Eddie said, leaning closer.

“Sick. Looks like chow mein with beef. Kid was gross.”

Eddie chewed at his lip.

The shape covered from toes to fingertips and up to the hairline, like one of those silhouettes they used to do in school.

Rollo coughed. “Don’t even want to check under the mattress now.” He pointed his gun at the blotch’s head.

“Rollo.” Eddie put his hand on Rollo’s shoulder. Knowing that a young child had slept there, that he’d been there so long the bed sagged around his outline. “Don’t.”

One pop, then another. Rollo drilled two eyes through the stain’s head. One high, one low. “Ho! Look at that. Like a chameleon or somethin’. Ever seen how they look around?” Rollo brought the gun back, muzzle pointing to the ceiling, trigger at his ear.

“You shouldn’t ha–“

“Shh.” Rollo sneered and turned his head.

“Did you hear that?”

Eddie took in slow breaths, straining to hear something other than Rollo’s breathing. “Someone downstairs?”

“No. I thought I heard–“

The sheets blasted up in a flapping blur. A dark, wet-looking mass smacked into Rollo and wrapped around his head and torso. Rollo screamed. It flowed up his chin and reached for his mouth. He spit and sputtered and tumbled to the floor, thrashing.

“N–No! G-G-get–”

Eddie fell back against the wall. A picture of a little boy crying slipped to the floor, big blue tears slinging off his face.

Rollo shouted and raked at the monster as it tried to enter his mouth. It oozed up his cheeks, curled through his hair, wrapped around his throat, and tore at his clothes.

Tufts of hair and scalp spackled outward. They stuck to the walls, some spattering Eddie. Eddie gagged. The monster gripped Rollo’s lips and tongue between its tiny mottled teeth. For the first time, Eddie realized that the creature attacking Rollo resembled a kid. Tendrils reached up to Rollo’s eyes, each strand tipped with yellowed barbs.

“N-No! Ed. He-hel–” Rollo’s pleas melted into a gargle.

They had been through a lot together. Just two weeks ago, the sophomores had jumped Rollo. Three on one. When Eddie arrived, he didn’t hesitate; he charged right in. The two of them had focused a full assault on the flimsiest of the thugs, mercilessly incapacitating him before driving the next sophomore to the pavement. The third fled.

Eddie ran for the door, his own screams drowning out Rollo’s.

The monster released Rollo and slung itself behind the door, pushing it closed. The dresser sat jammed in the doorway, the only thing saving Eddie. Knowing what it had taken to get in, he somehow knew he would never open it again if it slammed shut.

He clawed his way over the dresser and tumbled out into the hallway. The door repeatedly slammed into the dresser, splintering.

A pounding struck at the floorboards behind him. Eddie turned to find Rollo crawling toward him, his face a mess of shredded skin. His lower lip flapped below his chin like a meaty apron.

“No!” Rollo screamed as the creature spindled itself back around him, twining up his body. “Ed. ‘lease!” The monster wound around Rollo’s torso, his body jerking forward. It twisted around Rollo’s neck and arms before shrinking into a thick, soupy gruel. “Eddie! Help me!” Rollo said, still trying to reach for Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes flickered from Rollo to that soupy mass. He grabbed Rollo’s hand and yanked hard. The monster slipped toward Eddie’s white knuckles. He tried to let go, ready to run, to give up, but Rollo held his hand in a viselike grip.

“’uck!” Rollo cried. “Ed! You–”

“Roland, I can’t!”

Eddie pulled as hard has he could, and with another sudden jerk, he broke free and Rollo lurched backward. Eddie bolted. The cries began again in earnest. Eddie hurdled over the banister and came down hard ten feet below. His shoe pinched tight. Two steps across the floor and anguish screamed up his leg. He tripped and fell, then noticed the rotted board nailed through his foot.

Rollo’s cries reached a rabid delirium. Eddie rose to a knee and, gritting his teeth, stepped on the board and yanked his foot free. He sprang up and limp-sprinted from the house.

He tried to ignore Rollo’s shrill screams and cries of pain as he struggled down the front steps to the gate where the fence’s bleached bones skewed from the ground. He turned and glared at the house and that upper room, its window shattered and its frame missing. In its outline, a lone figure slowly waved its arms.

Eddie sobbed. I left him.

He whispered, “Rollo.” Then shouted, “Over here!”

He knew Rollo as well as Rollo knew himself. There was only one thing the guy would do.

Rollo turned, seemed to be staring directly at Eddie. Eddie waved his arms frantically and screamed, “Here!”

“Here!” Eddie shouted again. “To me!”

Rollo charged the third-story window and threw himself into empty space.

Gone. Just like that. Just like Dad. One morning you wake up and everyone’s gone. Well, Mom remained, in her own way. Eddie listened to her bumping about the kitchen. He waited until she left for the motel, the screen door slamming like a shot.

Rollo lay out there, baking in the sun. Eddie’s gun had been left on the premises, his footprints in the dust, blood too, from that nail. Even yesterday’s clothes were damning, spattered with grisly evidence. An open-and-shut case. Another delinquent off the streets.

Eddie stumbled to his feet and grasped through the hazy murk. He fumbled through the kitchen, catching the faint scent of coffee and bacon. He reached the second bedroom and went inside.

The worst part was the blame. He wasn’t a bad person, not really. But the papers would say otherwise. The kids at school. Rollo’s parents. The whole world would hate him. He shouldn’t have cowered. He should have told someone right away. They might have listened, but now it was too late.

Eddie cried. Tears pooled in his eyes but went no farther. He sat at the desk and scribbled a note as best he could. The letters he wrote blurred as if he were looking through a film of gravy. We didn’t mean to. I love - And he was off the paper. He dropped the pen, too dejected to care.

How had it found him? It had sliced him pretty good, perhaps it followed that tag like a scent. His throbbing foot could have left a trail. Or maybe it just peeked through windows until it found where Eddie slept.

Eddie reached to his face and the monster snapped and hissed. Right.

His mother’s gun felt heavier than his, more gravity of purpose. The safety sat in the same place. He could do it blindfolded.